"He's been sedated and restrained," the police officer that is leading the young lawyer and her assistant down the hallway. "We believe that he's rather dangerous, so if you need anything at all, you press the intercom and someone will come immediately."

The officer unlocks and opens the door into a small room. The only thing in it are a video camera, a table with three chairs. A pitcher of water with paper cups is on the table. Handcuffed to one of those chairs is a man in his mid-forties. He's a rather small man, not the hulking brute of the other night at all. And he's entirely average with a mop of black hair and flat brown eyes. The officer assures you that 'that's him, Matthew Arthur, aka Rock' before he leaves the two of you to your work.

The Lady knew her craft well. Before the advent of the Steranko institute and her introduction into the potential fate of heroism, she was a duelist. Before she was a duelist, she had implanted herself into the heart of a near cult. And in that she was what she chose to be: A Grifter. It had been some time since Camille DuClare had been able to ply her trade, but on this day she made an exception. Two fellow students had been kidnapped, and she felt responsible. She might not have had the raw power to stop them, but she should have known their intent long before she did. And in that, she was a failure. Today would be no such thing. But on this day, there was no Camille DuClare.

No. The woman walking into the room was perhaps fifteen years older - still quite young for a Public Defender. Her sheeks were more gaunt, severe - a woman posessed to be the best at her occupation dominated by A-Type and egomaniacal males. Her pantsuit was feminine yet authoritative, and her shoes only had a hint of heels. The gait she kept was clipped, and the blonde hair was kept short enough where a bun was equally economical without the cost of looking the part of a librarian. Even with the slightly square framed glasses. Monica Parker knew where she was going in life. It just so happened that she had to defend scum like this one to get there. And she seemed none too pleased.

With her was an assistant. Young still, very much so - perhaps a student or some other measure of person trying to learn. And that's what Camille had been hoping for. Even she could not slip a sword into a prison, so she needed someone close, someone she could trust to provide backup if needed. She only knew of one person who fit the bill, in terms of temperament, brains, and the brawns to back up both.

"Mr. Arthur. I'm your court appointed Public Defender," Monica Parker begins, setting her briefcase to the table, and opening it up to reveal a few dossier - one of which is handed to her assistant. "You may or may not be familiar with how this process works, but I assure you I take my work seriously. So tell me off the record, are you guilty of this crime?"

It was a baseline. A known red herring that would lead to a lie or truth. What very few people knew was that Camille DuClare's powers were not physical. Her sword skills were not some mutant gift. No, she was a master of all language, and perhaps the language of the body most of all. She, in essence, was a human lie detector.

And Maggie? The young red-headed girl who scurries along behind 'Monica', dressed in a black pencil skirt and a white button-front blouse, knows exactly what her role in this is. Bits of red hair have fallen out of that bun her hair is rolled back in to, a pencil sticking out and another clipped between her teeth as she shuffles through some papers cradled in one arm, as if desperately trying to find some missed bit of information. She doesn't even look up at anyone, letting Ms. Parker take the lead even in to the interrogation room. Once the cop leaves and the pair are alone with Matthew Arthur, Maggie hovers at Camille's side, putting down her stack of files and then accepting the one she is offered. The pencil is plucked from her hair, the file opened, and perused with a thoughtful expression. Just scenery - a frame in which to put DuClare's master work.

"That depends," the smallish man says, tugging at his restraints, "On what exactly I'm bein' accused of. Look at me? Do I look dangerous to you? I'm just a middle class man who works in security. I got a mortgage to pay and about a dozen credit card bills thanks to my ex-wife. I wake up and I'm in the hospital with a hole in my gut and there's cops guardin' my door and they're telling me I destroyed a local landmark."

Monica actually pauses for a moment, listening to what Mr. Arthur has to say. Somehow the words don't go together, though they break in ways that the faux Public Defender wasn't expecting. Mainly, the fact that he was telling the truth. Not about being dangerous - He knew that much. But he honestly believed the rest. She pauses for a moment, moving to retrieve a PDA from her pocket and glancing at the information. A moment later, she frowns and mutters, "What did I tell you, Maria -" At least it had an 'M' in it right? "About sorting my files in this fashion? This would get you fired from even PI work. Come here." She gestures sharply to the PDA, though it's a front to bring her just a touch closer. Enough to whisper: "He thinks he innocent. But he knows he's dangerous. It either means the Mentalist." She pauses, tapping the screen with finger nail to show a name: Deirdre Roberts. "Got to him, or something akin to dual personalities. We can only assume the later to glean information, unless you can read minds."

It's all spoken very quickly, as fast as Camille would allow while still being understandable - all spoken in that samed clipped tongue as if she were chiding Maggie. A moment later she looks up. "Excuse me for the unprofessionalism of that. My.. assistant had mismanaged some of my notes for this case. So your claim is that you have no knowledge of arriving at the scene? How about being in Cove City in the first place? It says you are a resident of New York State. And what is your association to this 'Rock'. The police have laid claim that he is your criminal alter ego. I am on your side, Mr. Arthur, but to present a proper defense I need to know everything you do - to figure out how the prosecution will go after you. And believe me they will. With enough bad press this city has, they will not care who they have to put in jail to get a decent headline."

Monica actually pauses for a moment, listening to what Mr. Arthur has to say. Somehow the words don't go together, though they break in ways that the faux Public Defender wasn't expecting. Mainly, the fact that he was telling the truth. Not about being dangerous - He knew that much. But he honestly believed the rest. She pauses for a moment, moving to retrieve a PDA from her pocket and glancing at the information. A moment later, she frowns and mutters, "What did I tell you, Maria -" At least it had an 'M' in it right? "About sorting my files in this fashion? This would get you fired from even PI work. Come here." She gestures sharply to the PDA, though it's a front to bring her just a touch closer. Enough to whisper: "He thinks he innocent. But he knows he's dangerous. It either means the Mentalist." She pauses, tapping the screen with finger nail to show a name: Deirdre Roberts. "Got to him, or something akin to dual personalities. We can only assume the later to glean information, unless somehow the mentalist left a dredge of memory."

It's all spoken very quickly, as fast as Camille would allow while still being understandable - all spoken in that samed clipped tongue as if she were chiding Maggie. A moment later she looks up. "Excuse me for the unprofessionalism of that. My.. assistant had mismanaged some of my notes for this case. So your claim is that you have no knowledge of arriving at the scene? How about being in Cove City in the first place? It says you are a resident of New York State. And what is your association to this 'Rock'. The police have laid claim that he is your criminal alter ego. I am on your side, Mr. Arthur, but to present a proper defense I need to know everything you do - to figure out how the prosecution will go after you. And believe me they will. With enough bad press this city has, they will not care who they have to put in jail to get a decent headline."

"I'm sorry Ms. Parker," Maggie says apologetically as she leans in, presumably to fix her mistaken and be schooled. There is a single, soft nod. "Yes ma'am." Agreement. 'Maria' slides into a chair about half way down the table and grips her pencil, starting to jot down some notes in the legal pad she brought. In the end she glances briefly up at Camille, then over to Matthew, offering him a gentle and reassuring smile. "It really is best if you're just totally forthright with every little thing. Ms. Parker is one of the best in the department - the more open you are with her, the more she can do for you. And nothing you say here will leave this room."

"Rock? Rock ain't a villain, toots," the man says. He holds up the chains again, studying them with a frown. "If he was a villain, he'd have busted these puppies already, broken through that wall right there and been out've here. Hell, he'd have left in the hospital when there'd have been far more opportunity to do so. I am the Rock. Not like that pro-wrestler guy who's started makin' Disney movies, mind. But he's my alter-ego when I'm workin' security. People look at me and ain't scared. They look at him and wonder if he might be able to pick up a truck and throw it across a football field." Matthew lifts a shoulder. He frowns though when Ms. Parker starts berating her assistant.

"But yeah, yeah I live in New York. Helluva lot better than Jersey. That's where I used to live. The armpit of the U.S. Kind of glad my ex-wife got the house in the end. I'm better off. Freakin' press. They either love you or hate you if you've got powers. You can't have no gray area… no… you either gotta be a good guy, or a bad guy. Screw 'em and their labels. I know I have a tendency to break stuff when I'm the Rock, but I don't do it on purpose… and I sure as hell don't remember bein' in no Pharmacy in Cove City. I don't even remember bein' in Maryland. I was just doin' a traveling security gig. The company I work for asked me to sit in on a transport of some goods."

"Mhm," Monica replies, lips pressed together as she writes her notes, pausing every so often to share with her assistant. "And this Rock, your alter ego. Do you have full faculties while under the guise, or does he have a will of his own?" She keeps her voice crisp, interested in the information more than the actual worth of it. As if she were prepparing statements for later use. She doesn't even seem to notice the superfluous talk, seeming to keen in on only information relevant in the court of law. "Travelling you say. Do you remember who the transport or it's contents belongged to?" She is careful for now, but if he doesn't know - or says something else. She adds in as if it were a reminder: "Does Roarke industries mean anything to you?"

Maggie continues to make notes and look over files - in reality, they are the contents of Jerry's e-mail. She scribbles down another note and slides it over towards Camille. On the e-mail page she's circled the Institute link for all but Rock, and written the question - ask about Steranko? She will not, however, do any questioning herself. Instead, while Monica passes over the bits of self-pity, Maria offers a look of sympathy. "You're just a hard working man trying to make your way. People will see that. Ms. Parker will make sure."

"Most of the time I got him under control," Matthew says, "Cept this one time… an ice cream truck went by and… uh, well, he's kinda like a five year old, you know? And how sometimes if you're a parent and you tell your kid 'no' they do stuff anyways? He's like a five year old. Like a big kid. And he sorta took control and ripped the top off the ice cream truck. Had a hell of a stomach ache after he finished and I finally got control back." The man shakes his head, looking embarassed, "That was just one time though. They aren't going to bring that up in court are they? I mean, I paid for those damages and the guy that owned the truck didn't press charges cause he was a neo too…"

"I work for Scion Pharmaceuticals." He looks at the dossiers and laughs a little, "I guess you probably knew that though. It was one of theirs. Some new drug or other. Yeah, I don't really know who we were takin' it too, just that we were takin' it to Richmond. Wasn't my business to know. Just my business to make sure it got there." When Monica mentions Roarke Industries that appears to light a bell, "Oh, hey, yeah. Now that you mention it that sounds familiar." He nods his head, "Yeah, yeah… Roarke. Big business man that bought out Scion about two years ago. They sent out a memo to all the employees and we all got raises." To Maggie he adds with a smile, "Thanks, doll face. I hope so. I don't need this crap. I mean, what'd I do to deserve this? Maybe my ex-wife put a hex on me."

"Quite honestly," And for once Camille was being honest. "They will. If they think it's admissable and have the information, they will." And technically speaking, if it was pertinent to the case, Camille would be duty bound to share the knowledge as Matthew's attorney. Perhaps fortunate for both of them, this was all a facade. Perhaps. The mention of Richmond brings a pause, and 'Monica' makes a little circle on the PDA next to Terrance's name. That is, Torrent, based in Richmond, VA. Of course, seconds later he confirms it by mentioning Roarke. And the direct connection to Scion. There were way too many links in this - too many coincidences. But… wait. "Does the name Steranko mean anything to you?" She begins, careful to mask the fact that it's a place. If he knew, he'd let on. But if he didn't, he'd probably assume it as a name. But almost as an aside she asks: "Hex? Your wife dabbles in magic?" It was a curiosity, both as Monica and as Camille. It was probably nothing, but still - never assume. It was much easier to follow a trail if one removed all possibilities. The slip of the tongue might have been jsut that. "She seems not to be such a nice person, your wife."

She speaks quietly, even as she circles her finger to something for Maggie's sake. The name Rock. The man only told one lie consistantly since the beginning, and tha was of his alter ego. He was downplaying just how dangerous he was. Or how uncontrollable. Perhaps that thing knew more than this man himself did. "And, by chance. Ever interact with members of this company heavily? Perhaps any that may have access to your background profile?"

Maggie takes note of what is being circled, but when Camille seems to take the idea of the hex seriously her eyes shift to the man.. and then she smiles, writing quietly down 'No Magic' on the note pad. She then starts to sift through files once more as if looking for something, though in all honesty she's just making it LOOK like that. After a moment she looks up at Matthew and asks, looking sufficiently embarassed, "Um, I'm sorry.. Your ex-wifes name isn't in my notes. I must have left it in the main file at the office." If it's given she'll write it down, and below that, a note to Camille: We should talk to Rock.

Matthew seems to zero in on the question about his ex-wife first. It's pretty obvious that he has no love for the woman now. "Magic? Hell no. But she's a witch if I ever saw one," he declares, "not such a nice person is putting it mildly. Nag, nag, nag. Sometimes she just wouldn't shut up! I do one thing wrong and it's all over, but she goes around screwin' some schmuck and it's somehow my fault. Here I am, bustin' my ass workin' hard for us… and… one day I come home and half the furniture is gone and she leaves the couch but only leaves one couch cushion. Who the hell does that shit? I'll tell you who… Stacy!" He looks at Maggie, "Her name is Stacy and I hope she rots. Why can't stuff like this," he lifts up the handcuffs, "happen to people like her, huh?"

As he's getting angrier about his ex-wife he does seem to be looking less 'average Joe' and slightly more 'weightlifter'. His eyes get darker in color. The man starts drawing in deep breaths and glances at the pitcher of water. "Can… can I have some o' that?"

"Steranko? Should it? Is that someone that was at the Pharmacy? The detectives said that I was the only one they found there." He frowns, "What? Scion? Cause there's lots o' people there I interact with. I guess any of the higher ups could view my file."

'Monica' shares a look with 'Maria' for a moment as the man begins to grow lightly, giving only the slightest upturns of the lip. Her side thought might not have had the intended effect of revealing some hidden link with the man's wife, but it presented a brand new oppoturnity of it's own. "Of course," she murmurs very lightly, before leaning over the pour a cup of water. When done she slides it over, making sure it's just that much further than his reach within the handcuffs. All done accidently of course! And all done with a specific purpose of mine. "She sounds like, and pardon my language, a real piece of work your wife. I know her type. I doubt that's the only thing she did. Isn't it a shame in this country she can be the adulteress and yet gain all the property?" It's all said as an aside, like small talk while she was working on the IMPORTANT paper work in front of her. She returns to the other train of thought: "No. The pharmacy was Main Street, forget my previous question though - It was from the wrong file. Have you personally met with any of the higher ups at Roarke? Or any peoples of note - perhaps holding a considerable amoutn of sway despite their young age." Pause. "Or perhaps you're being set up. Did your wife ever interact, or perhaps have a 'relationship' with any sort of people at Roake." Gee, she was mentioning Stacy a lot wasn't she? Totally accidental.

Maggie has a whole 'my GOD, how HORRIBLE' look on her face as Matthew recounts his tragic story with his wife, shaking her head in disbelief. "To mock you like that, how horrible! And now you have to work yourself to the bone to make ends meet, while I'm sure her new man is just taking care of her. Don't you worrr, Mister Arthur. I'm sure she'll have her turn." Meanwhile she gears herself up, ready to jump in if Camille's little piss-him-off trick backfires and Rock isn't quite as managable.. God forbid Frenchie just ASK if Rock can be brought out. Sigh. Oh well. This is why she brought you, Mags. Muscle.

Matthew reaches for the cup and looks annoyed when he can't get to it. He draws another breath closing his eyes and appearing to be silently counting backwards from ten. But then Monica has to keep mentioning her and the man grinds his teeth together. With each new mention he bulks up just a little bit more. "Stop it," Matthew says under his breath, "Just stop it. This is done. This interview is done. He's not gonna like being handcuffed…" He squeezes his eyes tighter. The question about higher ups at Roarke is an oasis and he latches onto that, "Yeah. The big man's daughter came to our facility to check it out shortly after the buy out. Sweet kid. Said she just wanted to check the place out. Gave her the tour myself. I can't imagine she wouldn't have some sway with her Dad. Little girls always have sway with their Dads."

And then that oasis is gone. Between 'Maria's' words and that last question from 'Monica' it's clear that the man just can't keep his cool any longer. His eyes go completely black. "That lyin' cheatin' bitch…" Muscles ripple and the slight man that was sitting in front of the two Steranko students is not so slight any more. He's BIG. VERY big. This is the figure that Camille stuck a sword through last night. There's a groan of metal as his wrists grow inside the handcuffs and then a wrenching sound as the Rock looks down at them and TEARS them off. He then proceeds to lift his fists up and SMASH them down upon the metal table that is between him and the two girls with tremendous force. It groans and bends. "Set up! Not nice people!" Another SMASH to the table makes the legs buckle.

And there was the link that Camille was missing. Or at least a very strong plusibility. It was very, very interesting how everything neatly tied up into a bow for Roarke industries. Of course seconds later, there's a more… imminent presence in front of them! And all things considered, Camille should have been frightened at having the metal ripped and bent as if it were play-dough… only. Well. She had expected it from the moment she started playing a little game. So instead, 'Monica' lowers her glasses slightly quirking her brow and frowning. Not scared. "Do remember, Mr. Rock," she murmurs after a moment. "We are absolutely on your side. Unlike those in the past. Say for instance, last night. According to your file," A complete and utter lie is what she speaks next: "There were others at the scene - apparent accomplices that abandoned you to take the wrap. If we knew more about them, or what they were doing we'd have a new case. Instead of being the patsy they think you are, you'd be proven to be the one standing up for what's right. A might man who wouldn't stand down to such things, or to run away." It was a gambit, she knew, a risk to try to provoke in such a way. But she was steering, trying to direct the anger elsewhere before it got too out of control. There was, perhaps, some opportunity in this. After all, he wasn't completely mindless last night. Just violence happy. And she would do the best she could to present a little target. If not…well. She doesn't look at the intercom, but mentally notes where it is. But that was plan F. A was now, B would happen soon, and C & D were where Maggie might have to get a bit physical to keep them both safe. But hopefully A) worked. Just in case. "It's also, very nice to meet you - the mighty Rock so spoken of."

Camille may barely bat an eyelash, but Maggie almost jumps out of her skin, grabbing the files and yanking them to her person as she jumps in her seat when the table is smashed at. Wide eyes look up at Rock for a moment before she clicks herself back in to reality. While not bothering to /not/ look startled - it works for the role, after all! - she listens carefully to Camille to cues and nods her head in all the right places, looking absolutely imploringly at Rock. "All we want is to see this horrible injustice righted! You're clearly a victim here, sir, and once everyone knows the truth, you'll practically be a hero and be able to just go back to your life. No chains, not handcuffs, nobody using you. But.." She presses her lips together, wanting SO badly to use her powers but knowing the darkness in her own eyes might just make the situation worse. "But you need to settle down, and please, trust us."

Rock clenches and unclenches his fists, standing over the wreckage of the table. His eyes remain dark, his teeth clenched. He looks from one girl to the other. Finally he settles on Monica, "Last night? Last night Rock working. Last night Rock secure cargo." He frowns. "People want to stop Rock from protecting cargo." HRRRRR! the big man growls. "Victim! HURT ME!" There's a slight shifting of the darkness in his eyes, it lightens some, then darkens back again. HRRRRR! "No hero. Just security! Just do my job!"

"What were protecting the cargo from, Mr. Rock?" Monica insists, voice gaining an hint of urging, but at the same time still withheld. Ever the Lawyer, trying to get to the information despite the imminent threat of danger! Well that's her roll. Camille's desire elsewise was more intent. More… focused. "My assistant is right. We need this to help You. To make sure the truth sees the light of day." Pause a second later. "And what was the cargo you were protecting, Rock? These are the keys to prove you were doing your job. Being security. The truth is the thing that will set you apart both from those that are manipulating you, and those trying to hurt you. And we believe you. You were just doing your job." And strangely enough, all spoken from truth this time. Monica had little need to bluff. Even if there was the fact that she and Maggie were manipulating poor Rock. It was the trut - That honesty would set him apart from the girls, as well as the other criminals who seemed to either to have mind controlled or manipulate him.
"And," Maggie adds in at the end, eyeing Rock carefully for any sign that he might try to attack them, "What were you meant to do with the cargo?" And yes, that's all she has to contribute.

"Bad people. Bad people want to steal. No share. Very important cargo. Research," Rock says. "Special Research. Fix people. Going to make medicine." He doesn't seem inclined to attack them, but he does attempt to sit in his chair and when it collapses under his weight he gets up and grabs the pieces of it and starts throwing them across the room. "Keep Cargo safe."

Camille's eyes widen marginally as the words come from Rock's mouth. It's a rare slip up, but at the same time, it's a rare moment of clarity for the woman. Suddenly, at least from her end, she could see a glimpse of the end game. Seeing motive behind the opportunity. Almost breathlessly, Monica adds: "And do you know where you were to take this cargo? Where you were going to take this cargo to keep it safe?" This marvelous! And terryfing at the same time. And if there wasn't some urgency in retrieving Adrian and Mariscka, there definately was some now. "You have been a great help Rock. To others and yourself. No need for violence now, or the guards will be coming." Probably already too late for that, given the video monitors, but she could try at least. "You have done very, very well. But this is very important if you know. Because that's where the people who abandoned you may go. Or worse, the people who might want to steal the cargo. After all, they tried once."

Maggie… is stunned. But in that moment, it all makes perfect sense. So many people view their gifts as curses - hell, she and Ian are probably among them to a certain degree - and how much would people pay to be rid of their powers? Or to gain the powers of another? If what Adrian and Linus can do could be copied.. "Jesus," she whispers, followed by a paign of Catholic Guilt. Then shit gets tossed, and Camille is working on pumping out more info before they run out of time. "Mister Rock, please, you need to settle down. If you can just be a little more calm, then once we know everything I'm sure the police will see this has all been a huge mistake. You've just been doing your job."

HRRRRR! The big man turns, eyes dark and he takes a step towards the two. "FAILED! They HURT me." He puts a hand to his stomach— being that much of it is showing since his massive change in size artfully ripped his clothing to shreds. "Didn't get cargo. Cargo safe. Lab. Took girl… why did they take girl?" Again the Big Man's eyes flicker, lightening up and this time they lighten completely, but the size is retained. "…Oh God," the voice that comes out of Rock's mouth now is different, quieter. He looks at the smashed chair, the destroyed table and at the two girls. "What have I done…?"

The sound of a key jiggling in the lock can be heard!

"You did not fail at all. You did your job to the best of your abilities." In a different time, perhaps a different life, Monoica's player, Camille, would have felt a pang of guilt. Not now now, however. Not when there were lives on the line, especially lives that could be used so carelessly for a gain of what? Money? Power? Dogma or Zealisism? No. There was no room for feeling remorse for injuring someone who had been considered an enemy at the time. And she knew her own skill - he would not remain damaged long, with at worse a scar - an equal measure to what she herself gained that night. "You did very well, Rock… Mr. Arthur. You did what you had to do, and that's all one could ask for." She shares a look with Maggie for a moment, as if to pass unspoken words before looking back. Monica slowly stands from her chair, ignoring the scattered papers here to for. Almost without worry to her own self — at least at the moment, she places a hand on the very large man's arm. "Your interview here, and eventual testimony will see that your truth is brought out. You have given us a lot to work with. I will let the guards know that the damage was… a demonstration. I asked to see what the other form was, and had pushed the table too close to you. Just calm yourself now." Almost immediately, Monica backs away to a good distance, regaining a posture of professionalism, doing her utter best to look nonplussed at the damage or the size of her 'client'. Indeed, she tries to make it seem that she was expecting it, a frown given in the direction of the door like the guards were /interrupting/ something.

But it was far past due for her and Maggie to get out of here.

Maggie watches all of this unfold in silence, brow knit and lips turned down. And then this man - this stupid, unknowning, used man - finally comes to the realization that he has been had.. It's almost more than she can take. While Camille works her magic, Maggie gathers up their things and stuffs them into the briefcase, closing it all up to ready their exit. Looking very seriously at Matthew as the door is unlocked, she pauses a moment before saying, in all sincerity, "We're going to fix this for you." And she means it. Probably the first totally honest words to come out of her mouth. ".. But you can't be anyones pawn anymore, Matthew. Get a grip, figure it out. Be your own man, and things will get a lot better for you."

Matthew just shakes his head, putting his face in his hands. He's already starting to shrink down a little. It's gradual. He's still a rather impressive size when the police open the door. One officer asks, "Are you two ladies okay?" While the other is pulling out handcuffs and looking warily at the prisoner.

"We're fine. Our client was making a demonstration, and had not expected the equipment here to be unstandard for neohuman processing. But we must get going. I have at least five briefs to submit for this." But Camille doesn't make the mistake of rushing out. No, instead she moves as if she was meant to do this job, only pausing long enough to take one last look at Matthew. She wasn't feeling pity, nor any sort of sadness for the unfortunate man. Just… a sense of dissatisfaction. What was the joy in bending the will one so easily taken advantage. It was a mark of arrogance, and a disdain for the craft of manipulation. Especially so for someone who seemed bound only by duty. There was a certain respect for that, and a greater annoyance at someone perversion of it. But once they're outside earshot, Monica's gait slowly turns back to Camilles, as the young woman fishes into her jacket pocket to pull out the tape recorder. "I got all of it. After editing out anything potential bad, I'll ensure it ends up in the hands of someone who could use it. The man in there doesn't belong here. A home maybe, but not here." But more importantly. "We know what they want, and why they have him. Now we have to find where they are…" And then Camille looks at Maggie. "And I'll hurt them. My Wit ran through the wrong individual that night. I do not intend to make the same mistake."